


A Promise

by MissEmmanuelle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Jonsa, Alternate Canon, Arranged Marriage, I still don't know what a Magnar is, Raised as a wildling, Secret Past, Wildling Jon Snow, anon prompts, jon is a Magnar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissEmmanuelle/pseuds/MissEmmanuelle
Summary: Sansa finds herself lost in the woods beyond the Wall while out riding one day with her siblings. Help comes from an unlikely source but with it comes a condition she isn’t quite prepared for. Or, is she? (Magnar Jon is raised by the freefolk, but he has a secret…)





	A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Anon ask prompt for jonsa-creatives on Tumblr.
> 
> Anonymous asked:
> 
> Prompt: An arranged marriage between Sansa and Magnar Jon.
> 
> Also written for 31 Days of Jonsa: Day 14 - Bandaging wounds.
> 
> *unbeta'd and I still have no clue what a Magnar is in GoT (even after reading the books), so pardon the mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Elle xxx (jonsaforlife/jonsa-creatives on Tumblr - come say hi!)

“Move.”

A raspy voice shook her to her core.

It was all her fault. She wanted to prove that she too could be as good as a rider like Arya. But she had always kept company with the septas and the other ladies indoors within the castle grounds. She knew next to nothing about riding except to sit on a horse. It wasn’t very lady-like venturing out in the wintery woods like the Stark boys and Arya often did. But she didn’t want to be the odd one out. She was always the one left out of fun and games. But this wasn’t fun and it wasn’t a game any longer. Sansa knew the minute she heard only the thumping of her mare’s hooves that she was certainly lost and on her own. In the thick of the woods. Clothed only in her woollen dress and a fur cloak, Sansa had nothing else.

“Can you talk?” another voice chimed in. Sansa wasn’t sure if she should. The Freefolk were an uncivilised lot, and Sansa had rode far enough to be caught in their midst. All she wanted was to ask for help and perhaps for some food and water. It was a great risk but desperation drove her to that end. It had been two days of riding and Sansa could barely sit on her horse.

“Leave us. Leave!” The raspy voice was louder this time and commanded the rest to leave the tent. Sansa watched as their feet shuffled towards the exit, keeping her eyes down.  _Please don’t kill me, please._

“Here, have some food. You look like you could use some.”

Sansa’s stomach growled as the scent of roasted meat hit her nostrils. Looking up, she was met with dark grey eyes staring back. A head of messy black curls framed a solemn and gruff face. He wasn’t quite what she expected. Not at all hideous, like the stories about the free folk told when she was little. In fact, he looked like any other northerner. He raised his eyebrows and nudged the tray at her.

Sansa nodded meekly and took a small portion of charred meat. He smiled as she ate. Sansa was ravenous. She could eat three more plates of whatever they made, it was delicious.

“Where are you from? The North? Were you lost?” he asked, sipping from his cup as he curiously watched her every move.

Sansa nodded again. There was no point in hiding anything, perhaps even better if she told the truth. The truth of who she was, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North. Whether or not the Freefolk knew what that meant, it was all she had. And maybe the only hope to return home.

“Y-yes, my Lord. I was out riding with my brothers and sister and I lost them. I have been trying to find my way back ever since. That’s when I came upon your camp, I needed help.”

He listened intently and remained quiet as she spoke. It was unnerving to Sansa seeing how his eyes roamed all over her, a searing gaze that could burn a hole right through.

“Aye, I heard from the women folk, how a young lady, barely hanging onto a tired horse walking right up to our tents. They took good care of you?”

“Yes my Lord. They did. Your people- the womenfolk, they were very kind to me. Thank you.”

“Aye, they told me you were a lady and indeed you are. Do you have a name?”

Sansa hesitated.  _Father would be looking for me already by now._

“Sansa. Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North-”

“Warden of the North? I know of  a House Stark. So you’re his daughter?” Sansa nodded.

“Yes-yes my Lord. You have all been very kind to me but I wish to return home. Could you please show me my horse so I can be on my way? I will never forget your kindness and neither will my father.”

The young man paused as he brought the cup to his lips once more and only looked down without a word.

“Lady Sansa, it is too cold to leave tonight. Perhaps in the morning. I will take you to him myself, it’s not so easy the roads beyond the Wall,” he said. There was something in his tone that made her nervous.

* * *

Sansa was too fatigued to move and sleep had overpowered all of her senses. But still she could not shake off the movement of furs and clothes around her. A hand had firmly grasped the inner of her thighs and a strong pinch woke her up with a start. Large brown eyes and a snarl greeted hers. A towering build that reeked of dried blood and piss hovered above her.

Sansa screamed.

“Shut up! Shut up! You’re my little wench now!” he hissed at her and Sansa desperately tried to crawl away but he was far too strong. Sansa managed one more shriek, with all her might, before a hand smothered her mouth and pinned her down. No, no, oh gods, please no..

“Are you a virgin, sweet one? Your tight cunt is mine-”

“Let her go! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Sansa drew in a sharp breath of air as all of the weight was removed from her,  in a second. Sansa turned and saw the beastly man fly out of her tent.

“Are you all right, Sansa? I heard you scream,” he knelt beside her and helped her sit up. Sansa nodded as tears streaked her cheeks and pulled together her torn dress in an attempt to regain her modesty.  _The stories were all true…_

“It will never happen again. I’ll stay right here. No one will touch you, Sansa.”

“Your name… I don’t know your name,” Sansa whispered in between sobs as she leaned into him. He was warm and smelled of leather and ale. It was strangely comforting.

“Jon. Call me Jon.”

Sansa woke up covered in a heap of furs, undoubtedly Jon’s as they had his scent but a ruckus heard just outside her tent prompted her to investigate.

“And you believe her? She could be a runaway from a whorehouse you fool! What highborn young lady wanders beyond the forests on her own beyond the wall? She’s fair game.”

“I would behead you if I hear you talk about her like an animal one more time. She is not ours to keep! We cannot risk angering the Northern Lords. Not the Starks,” Jon argued, obviously in a heated exchange between the tribe leaders over the incident the night before.

“I know of the Starks. How do you know she is one?” a deep sombre voice responded. Sansa couldn’t quite see whose it was as the men were all dressed in nearly identical furs.

“Her cloak. Had direwolves on them. Sigil of House Stark,” Jon said. Sansa wondered who this Jon was, seeing how much he knew about her family.

“You seem to know a lot about these Northern Lords. You wish to kneel to them?”

“Mance, you forget I was ten before you took me in. I knew plenty by then. Let her go, Mance. It’s not worth risking lives for the sake of one girl. They are searching for her now as we speak.”

Silence ensued. Sansa quickly dressed herself as much as she could with the furs she was given. She searched high and low in the small tent for a knife or a dagger, perhaps one that Jon took off of him during the night but there was none.  _I want to go home._

“She’s not one of us!” shouted another voice, followed by a cacophony of objections rising loud enough to rattle Sansa’s nerves.

“Well then, make her.”

“You are out of your mind, Mance! And how do you do that? She’s of House Stark! A lady! You want her turned as one of us?” Jon scoffed.

“She has to be spoken for. You can’t stand as her guard all the time. If you want to keep her safe, then you have to take her. No man here will touch her again, you’ll have their word.”

“Take her? What do you mean? … As my wife?”

“Well, how else then? If she’s a clever one, she will know it’s good for her,” Mance continued and all Sansa wanted to do was run.

“Aye, she will be safe here as your woman. No man would be foolish enough to touch another man’s woman. As long as she’s not, not I nor you can keep her modesty intact for long.”

Sansa paced the tent. She needed to escape, to get away from the whole arrangement set up before her. _I was meant to be queen! Not a whore to a man of the Freefolk!_

“I…. I have to speak with her.”

Sansa heard footsteps approaching, certain that it was Jon. She had heard it all. And she was not willing. They can’t make her.

“San…. Oh, you’re up,” Jon greeted her, seeing Sansa standing wide eyed before him. “I need to speak with y-”

“No! I cannot! I heard everything! I can’t marry you!”

Jon sighed and sat down on a stump of wood. “I want to kill the man who hurt you last night. Behead him and put his head on a platter.”

“But I can’t do that to every man here. They don’t care if you’re a highborn princess. You understand don’t you?”

“Why won’t you let me go home? Please, my Lord, I swear to the old gods, my father will reward you greatly for returning me to him! Please, my Lord, let me go home,” Sansa pleaded tearfully, rushing to his side almost kneeling and begging for mercy. Jon couldn’t look her in the eye no matter how hard he tried.

“Lady Sansa, listen to me. It’s not safe for you here and you cannot be out there alone. I tried to explain… But it’s between me and another wildling man Sansa. I’ll… I’ll take care of you. I promise I will take you home. And once you’re home, I’ll release you and you can go back to being Lady Stark again. But for now,” Jon paused, knowing perhaps he had said enough in one breath. Sansa stared at Jon in disbelief. This could not be. Her future, her dreams, her life now utterly ruined. In resignation, Sansa clutched her knees close to her chest and cried.

It was a riotous affair with the wildlings when it came to weddings - perhaps it was their only one since it was a first for Magnar to be wed to a lady. A Northern lady no less. Sansa could not find it in her to smile, much less eat or drink, in partaking the huge feast that laid before her. Jon had taken notice too but he was mindful enough to keep it to himself.

“Eat, Jon! You’ll need it! To bed your woman and bed her well!” a brawny ginger haired man sauntered over to them, reeking of ale. Sansa turned away.  _No one will touch me, not even Jon._  Jon only smiled and drank up his ale. He knew it was time for the feast to wind down. He was exhausted and didn’t care much for whatever else. All that mattered was that no one was going to touch Sansa ever again. And soon, he had to make plans to venture past the Wall to return Lady Sansa where she belonged. It wasn’t going to be easy and even dangerous, if they came across the rangers from Castle Black.

“It’s time to go to bed,” Jon said quietly to his new bride. Sansa glared and pulled away from his touch. Jon sighed, at how this was going to be a dreary long night; for both of them.

“Sansa, before they carry you to my tent and strip you naked, please do as I say, my Lady,” he continued, seeing how she refused to budge earlier. Sansa shut her eyes for a second and eventually stood up with Jon. The crowd cheered and hollered as the newlyweds stepped out to their tent.

Sansa walked meekly behind him in her mended dress with a new fur cloak that Jon had draped over her shoulders earlier during the ceremony. It felt heavy and stifling even in the biting cold.

Jon’s tent was much bigger than hers and brightly lit and warm. Though not much to look at. The bed was made up of bales of hay and a heap of animal skins and furs atop it. A small fire stood in the middle of the tent and all Sansa wanted to do was crawl up next to it and fade away into nothingness.

Jon removed his furs and weapon belt, leaving only his tunic on as Sansa watched him from a distance. Sansa tried to look away but her intrigue got the better of her.  _Who was this man?_  He spoke like a Northerner, behaved like a Northerner, still had all his teeth and even had manners. A leader of men in the tribe of Thenn was all she heard of him. Somehow, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her curiosity. Now that they were married, Sansa supposed it was only right to get to know her new husband.

A soft hiss snapped her back to her senses as she saw Jon reach from behind him to peel off his tunic slowly, exposing a worn bandage stained with dried blood plastered across his back. It was obvious he was not able to look after the wound well as the odour that emanated from it soon filled the tent. Sansa covered her nose discreetly. Jon groaned in pain as the tunic came off his shoulder finally and onto the ground. The sight of his maimed back was enough for Sansa to curse the gods.

“You’re hurt,” Sansa said, quite plaintively, attempting to hide the grave concern in her voice.

“A few scratches that is all. It will be gone in a few days,” Jon smirked as he turned to face her. standing half naked. Sansa had never seen the bare chest of a man before and the chiselled physique that her new husband presented before her had Sansa let out a small gasp. It was probably a good thing, then that he did not look one bit like the wildlings. That if she was going to have to stay near him always, at least he was comely enough for her to withstand and look upon.

A silence stood between them and Sansa soon realised what was about to take place.  _Oh, gods, no._

It was her duty. Shutting her eyes, Sansa turned around and uncloaked herself. She took as much time as she could even though she could feel Jon’s burning stare at the back of her head. He was anticipating what every man would on their wedding night. She couldn’t blame him. She had agreed to the arrangement, it was the best choice she had of ever returning home. But to be touched by a strange man, to be taken as a bride - she wasn’t ready. Perhaps she never will be. This wasn’t what she had in mind with the prince in her dreams. The tears started flowing again and Sansa fought to keep calm.

“Lady Sansa… You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Sansa paused. A wave of relief washed over her.

“I meant what I said. What I promised you. We will leave once it’s safe. I hope we will get you home safely, my Lady. And I won’t ask anything of you that you do not wish to give me.”

Sansa exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. How she wished Jon knew how happy it made her, hearing those words once more. How happy  _he_  had made her. The gods must have heard her prayers.

Jon smiled and took some of the furs from their makeshift bed and laid them on the ground beside the fire. He sat down to drink a cup of ale before Sansa wondered why he wasn’t in bed already.

“My-my Lord? Aren’t you tired? Perhaps it’s time for bed?”

Although, Sansa was more than happy to sleep next to the fire. Jon gave a polite grin and shook his head slightly.

“The bed, is all yours, my Lady. The fire here is warm enough for me,” he pointed at the flames with his cup.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I am pleased enough laying by the fire, my Lord. If that is all right with you.”

Jon chuckled. He was amused at the courtesies of the young lady. She was indeed beautiful, skin as pale as the summer moon and hair kissed by fire, with eyes as enchanting as the bluest skies. But, she wasn’t really his. He had made a promise. Under different circumstances, if he was raised the Thenn way, he would ravage her until she could barely walk the day after but… his old guardian had taught him better. He was of no wildling blood and he would prove it as a testament to his real heritage. But that was his secret and his alone. Whether or not he should confide in his new wife, only time would tell.

“No, my Lady. Living in a camp must already be hard enough. No wife of mine would be sleeping on the ground. Please, the bed is yours. It’s not much but it’s good enough for sore bones and such.”

Sansa returned his smile and nodded. As she sat on the bed, the animal skins and furs softly embraced her as she gently laid down; Sansa could not stop thinking of Jon’s badly wounded back. At least if he was kind to her, she could repay him with some of her own.

“My Lord?”

“Sansa, please, call me Jon.”

Sansa blushed as he turned his gaze on her as she called out to him from his bed.  _Their bed._

“Thank you. For helping me. I will never forget it and I’m sure my father will thank you for your kindness.”

Jon’s gaze lingered as their eyes met again and  Sansa could feel everything else around her melt away. There was something in Jon that caused a stirring in her. Perhaps it was his sad dark grey eyes that drew her in despite her resistance.

“May I sit with you?”

“Sansa, you may do whatever you like. I suppose as long as you’re with me.”

Sansa nodded shyly and sat up. Gingerly, she tiptoed and found a warm spot inches away from him. Jon felt a breath hitch in his chest when he saw how beautiful she glowed in the pale amber light.

“Your back. How did you get hurt? If I may ask?”

“Ah, yes. A skirmish. In a small village, they took our livestock. So we took theirs.”

“Raiding cattle?”

“I suppose so. There’s many of us, many mouths to feed. It’s hard in these parts. Hunting is sometimes scarce. You may not agree but that’s our way of life.”

“I have only heard stories, that is all.”

Jon chuckled. He too, heard of many stories of the wildlings and it was amusing to him now that he had become one.

“How is it that you don’t speak like them, Jon? And you know so much about lords.”

Jon eyed Sansa nervously and sat upright, slightly uncomfortable at the sudden probe. Sansa’s eyes were mostly fixed on the flickering flames than on him and it put him at ease a little. Still he had to be careful lest his secret be known.

“I was ten when the wildlings took me in. Just a boy. I had no mother or a father. Just a guardian who looked after me. Taught me all I needed to know. Lived in a small village just before the Wall. The wildlings came and took over, he died fighting for me. But managed to kill a few of them and two were the sons from the tribe of Thenn. So, they thought it was justice to bring me up as one of theirs.” It was a good story he had thought of many times over, often to himself since the day he was taken by the free folk. The truth was far from it. 

Sansa wished she hadn’t asked.  _He was just a boy._

“You were taken? A prisoner? So you never were one of the free folk.”

“Aye. Not so much a prisoner. I suppose they found some use for me,” Jon nodded, looking at his weapons strewn on the ground.

“Does it hurt?”

Jon pondered on her question. The tribe was the only family Jon had ever known. He had fought alongside them, ate with them, even killed for them. They had taken away the only family he had but unwittingly offered a clan who now called him their lord and leader.  _No, it doesn’t really hurt._

“Your back, I mean. Perhaps I could take a look at it for you,” Sansa continued.

“It would please me to care for my lord husband, to see that he is well. Otherwise, who can I count on to bring me back home?” Sansa persuaded, seeing Jon’s hesitance. A good point he could not argue, though touched by her gesture.  _A kind woman._

“There is some water over there for washing.”

Sansa grabbed hold of the cask and looked around her for clean rags she could use. There was none.

_Well… if I must, then so be it._

Sansa sat down again and lifted her skirts. Her small clothes were the perfect material and probably cleaner than anything else in the camp.

“My Lady, what are you doing?” Jon asked as Sansa began to undress. She was his bride that was true and Jon had his own manly needs but could he refuse her? It would be foolish to do so.

“I beg your pardon, but this is probably quite un lady-like of me that you have to witness,” Sansa quickly apologised before ripping the hem of her small clothes into small thin rags. Jon could not help but laugh. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Sansa motioned for him to turn around and Jon winced as Sansa’s fingers made her way to the gashes on his back. Her touch was soft and tender, almost loving and Jon fought to sit still. In his mind, Sansa would already be in his arms and his mouth on her pretty lips.

“Sit still. This may hurt a little,” Sansa warned as she pulled the stained bandage off his skin. Jon howled and writhed in pain, feeling a thousand arrows piercing his back.

“I’m sorry my Lord! Please, sit still!”

Jon took a few deep breaths, cursing under his breath, glad that he chopped the head off the one who drove the axe onto his back. Sansa’s hushed whispers as she washed the wounds had somehow calmed him and soon he realised he knew the words too.  _It was a song_. He had heard the song once before but quite vaguely. Her soft tones were enough to lull him to a sense of peace and tranquility. It was almost surreal.

“You have a lovely voice, Sansa,” closing his eyes at her touch.

“It’s a hymn that I sing to sleep sometimes. My Septa taught me.”

“She taught you well,” Jon praised as he sighed and melted at the gentleness Sansa was treating him with.

“Yes… She did.” Her fingers paused and Jon noticed her touch had left him completely. Instead of a song, Jon heard hushed sobbing. Turning around, Jon saw Sansa wiping her tears hastily, her body heaving uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry if it was something I said, my Lady. I didn’t mean to-”

“I miss them. I miss my family. All of them. They must think I am already dead,” Sansa struggled through her sobs, her tears and sadness unrelenting.

“Hush now, they will jump for joy when they see you. They will always hope for your return, my Lady. I know it. I will get you home, Sansa. Whatever it takes, I promise I will,” Jon said, lifting her chin with his finger to meet her eyes. Her pale blue eyes were glimmering with tears and her face red from crying but it only made her more beautiful.

Sansa nodded and closed her eyes as she calmed down. With their faces now almost nose to nose, Jon wiped away a tear tenderly as it rolled down her cheek. As Sansa opened her eyes once more, Jon’s gaze was still on her, only this time the eyes that were staring back were tender and kind. It was as if he was another person entirely, someone she could trust and even grow to love.

“I know you will. I trust you.”

Sansa closed her eyes again, this time released from her pain as his lips grazed hers and his warmth wrapped around her in an embrace she wished would never end.


End file.
